


Apricity

by The_Last_Kenobi



Series: Whumptober 2020 [27]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Whump, Whumptober 2020, extreme cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27251674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Last_Kenobi/pseuds/The_Last_Kenobi
Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi are stranded on a planet of ice and snow.They have, at most, one more sunset before the cold kills them.Written for Whumptober 2020Day 27 - Extreme Weather
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Whumptober 2020 [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956463
Comments: 14
Kudos: 87





	Apricity

Qui-Gon’s eyes blinked open slowly.

Each blink felt like a drumbeat, heavy and clumsy; every glimpse of light burned. Nevertheless, he opened his eyes to face the day.

It was so… _so cold_.

His limbs were curled tightly, the joints locked; the only warmth in the galaxy seemed to be a tiny, flickering heat deep inside his chest where his heart was still wearily beating, and from the faintest touch of warmth ghosting across his neck.

Qui-Gon looked down, his neck throbbing and protesting, and realization came back to him.

The faint warmth was Obi-Wan, his unsteady breathing causing little puffs of steam.

His sixteen-year-old Padawan was curled in his lap, head bowed over his chest; they were both wrapped in Qui-Gon’s enormous cloak, desperate for shelter, to contain their heat as best they could.

When Qui-Gon shifted, the cloak creaked and crunched, the thin layer of frost on the outside cracking.

The Jedi Master reached up with the arm that wasn’t cradling Obi-Wan’s head and tugged down the edge of the cloak to see their surroundings. Ah—yes. They’d hidden from the snowstorm that had destroyed their ship, retreated into this tiny cave. That had been evening, now it looked to be morning.

It was a miracle they had survived the night.

He cradled Obi-Wan a little closer.

Their ship had sent out a distress signal before it had been demolished, he was certain of that. Rescue _must_ be coming; the Jedi would never leave a team stranded on a planet where they could not survive.

During the day, it would be warm enough—not warm by any means, probably a little over freezing—that they would survive all right, especially with access to water and their meager rations. A brisk walk in the sun would do them good, as well as help them orient their location.

But another night…

Another night would be sure to kill them.

It was only the Force that had brought them through the last one, although adrenaline and the heat contained in their protective clothing after the fiery crash had probably helped.

Qui-Gon scratched his throat absently to get rid of an irritating itch.

He eyed the blinding sunlight on snow outside the cave, and pondered their options.

Whatever happened, lying here would only cause them further harm. As loathe as he was to wake his young apprentice, it had to be done.

Qui-Gon gently peeled back the cloak, letting the icy fabric fall to the ground, and moved his numb, trembling hand to Obi-Wan’s spiked, ruddy-golden Padawan cut. Fragments of frost shimmered in the strands as he stroked them clumsily. 

“Padawan,” he said hoarsely.

Obi-Wan kept sleeping.

Qui-Gon huffed.

“Obi-Wan, wake up. I know you don’t want to, but I’m afraid we must.”

Still, the youth didn’t stir.

Qui-Gon trailed his hand down to Obi-Wan’s cheek, and found it as chilled as his hair had been.

“…Padawan?”

Qui-Gon became aware, suddenly, that his faint heartbeat was now the only warmth he could feel.

He watched intently, but no more mist spilled from between Obi-Wan’s slack lips.

He waited, and waited, and still, no more mist.

Obi-Wan's lips were open, but he wasn't - he wasn't -

“ _Obi-Wan!_ ” Qui-Gon jerked; he leaned the boy down so that he was lying on his back atop the discarded cloak and leaned over him, ignoring the screaming of his frozen muscles and joints. His hands shook as he traced them over Obi-Wan’s lips, now very obviously tinted blue, and over his chest and his throat, searching for a pulse that wasn’t there. 

“ _No_ ,” Qui-Gon denied. “No, no, no. Padawan, wake up!”

One of Qui-Gon’s lips cracked from the cold. Hot blood seeped through the crack and stained the side of his mouth, but he ignored that too.

Obi-Wan was as pale as he had been since they had curled up under the cloak the night before, but the dark circles around his eyes were as dark and purple as bruises, and there was ice settling in his lashes, sealing his eyes closed.

He didn't look real anymore.

The snow had stolen his breath, and now it was stealing his image.

“No, no, don’t you _dare_ ,” he demanded fervently, placing his hands on either side of the white face and staring at it as if by sheer desperation he could convince the blue-green eyes to open again, for color to return to the slack lips and icy cheeks. “You’re just asleep. You’re only sleeping. Wake up.”

His voice cracked. “Obi-Wan, _wake up!_ ”

But Obi-Wan didn’t.

Obi-Wan never disobeyed a direct command.

Never.

He could be reckless, headstrong, and sometimes they clashed, but he had never once ignored an _order_. Not a real one.

Qui-Gon let out some sort of horrible, strangled moan that might have turned into sobs if he wasn’t so frozen.

He dropped his forehead to rest against Obi-Wan’s, shuddering at the unnatural, icy touch. It was like trying to embrace a statue.

“Obi-Wan... please... help is coming. Wake up. We made it through the night. _Please_.”

Another strangled sob, which became a groan, that escalated to a _scream_.

Something inside his throat cracked like his lips had, and he tasted blood.

Obi-Wan still wasn't waking up. 

Qui-Gon ran his thumbs over the frost-coated eyes, begging them to open.

“Only sleeping,” he murmured again, still clasping the dead face, still pressing their foreheads together. “Sleeping…”

* * *

Sunset was still a few hours off when the gleaming shuttle landed next to the crash site. The ramp descended, and a towering man with billowing robes and dark skin that shone in the brilliant light exited rapidly, shielding his eyes from the glare.

His eyes moved about, trying to figure something out—there.

He hurried towards the mouth of a small cave, not far from the wreckage, and ducked inside, one hand on the hilt of his saber, resting on his hip.

He stopped.

There were two figures ahead, in the tiny, cramped space. A tall, long-haired man was sitting eerily, perfectly still on top of a wrinkled cloak, cradling an eerily, perfectly still boy in his arms, their foreheads pressed together.

Not a sound filled the cave.

Mace Windu approached slowly, horror rising in his throat like bile.

They both looked…frozen.

He was too late.

But then—the man slowly lifted his head from the boy’s, his dark blue eyes moving slowly before settling on Mace, looking at him, but also through him. Mace looked at Obi-Wan, and saw a limp figure as white as the snow around them, his mouth slightly open, his eyes sealed shut.

“Qui-Gon?” Mace whispered.

“It’s fine,” Qui-Gon said, unnervingly calm. “He’s only sleeping.”


End file.
